Questions Without Answers
by TheRoseShadow21
Summary: "One summery evening, when the golden sunlight is just starting to give way to darkness, Jun decides to make a robot." Three-parter fic based on the Natsushiro Takaaki song 'Near'. Rated T to be safe.
1. Before

**So, last week I discovered the Natsushiro Takaaki song 'Near' and basically fell for it, and pretty damn hard too. And something about it captured enough of my imagination that I started making up a story to go around the song. This fic is the result.**

 **It probably could have worked well as a one-shot, and when I started writing it that's how I laid it out. But looking at it all, structurally it ended up making more sense to split it up into three different sections. The middle section (next chapter) is the one most related to the song (and the one that actually incorporates the song lyrics into the story, as it happens) and I guess this section and the last one are essentially a prologue and an epilogue, I guess. I should also point out that while this section and the middle section are from the POV of Jun (the name I have given the scientist in this fic), the final section is from a different POV. And also that I have assumed a futuristic setting, though to be honest that's not really the point of the story.**

 **So, erm, yeah. On with the story-I do hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 _Before_

Loneliness is not really something Jun feels.

After all, this is the life he chose for himself, to remain in his half-ruined house overlooking the sea, where the single room it exists as now is always soaked in golden sunlight, away from the rest of the world. He likes it here, and has built up a life that he is more than content with. He gets to avoid the hubbub of the rest of the world; he is free from most social obligations, his interactions with the monotonous human race pared down to the very minimum. He sleeps and works and eats and reads, and thinks about everything and anything (and, when he feels like it, nothing), and he is content. There is no pressure to be something or someone he does not wish to be. Of course, he has a career, and an obligation to check in with colleagues, send reports and data and the like, but even that is mostly on his own terms. It's pretty much perfect, for a solitary creature like him.

But of course, there are the flaws. His sickness, for one thing. No cure for it, only injection-administered medications that will keep it at bay for at least a while. He gets shipments of the medication in at least twice a year, often corresponding with the food delivery of that month, and he injects himself according to a timetable he's created out of years of trial and error and bad spells. He hates it, but he has learnt to live with it, but at least alone he is away from pity and patronising looks and unsolicited advice. That, at least, is something.

The other problem is that of loneliness. Even though he does not feel it, even though he is happy on his own, sometimes it is exhausting, not having anyone to talk to, to exchange ideas with, to listen to and to have listen to him. And of course, being a scientist not just in name but in nature, he wonders what it takes to be able to have that kind of conversation. Whether it's something uniquely linked to human nature, or if he could make himself a companion in a different way.

And so one summery evening, when the golden sunlight is just starting to give way to darkness, Jun decides to make a robot.

He spends the next days and weeks working on all of the plans, sketching out a diagram of the robot's interior and exterior structures, making notes about the different functions she will have and the possible programs he'll need to create in order to measure the results of said functions. The notes soon spread over his desk, and after a while he takes to pinning them up on the wall space around his desk, underneath the photographs and above his monitors.

In his diagrams, the robot assumes the proportions of his late sister, who was 13 when war stole her. Part of this is sentimentality, but the rest is practicality-a robot in the proportions of a young girl will be easier to maintain and carry around. And in any case, he wants this robot to look as human as possible, and his sister is the only human he knows enough about to use as a model. It also turns out to be useful when he actually starts to search for the materials to make her, since what he comes up with isn't enough to build a robot in the proportions of a human adult.

In between the actual construction of the robot, Jun creates the different programs that will track the progress that she-for the robot is a she, even before she is fully formed-will make across her lifespan. In the end, he decides upon a number of different variables to measure-how clear her voice is, how well she can move, how quickly her circuits process the information he will provide her. Though of course she cannot eat in the way that he can, he modifies her mouth systems so that her tongue has something like taste buds, and sets up a program to record how she will respond to the different tastes he'll eventually expose her to. And then there is the simplest, but the most important counter: how many questions he asks her, and how many replies she makes.

All of this, to him, is fairly easy stuff. A lot of effort, but easy enough for someone of his skill. The thing that troubles him the most while creating her is what name she'll have. It seems a touch arrogant to give her a proper human name from his own language, and yet he doesn't want to resort to a code of letters and numbers, like other scientists he is fleetingly in contact with do. So he thinks, and thinks, and eventually he remembers an English word that he's always liked the sound of.

Near.

"Near. Ni.a. Near." Jun says this aloud to himself when he thinks of it, hunched over his computer. Near. Meaning close, as in the opposite of far away or distant. Near. He likes it, he likes it a lot. And so, smiling to himself as he enters it into his programs and makes it official, he decides that her name will be Near.

And that is how it all begins.


	2. The Years of Warmth

_0years_0days_

Jun sits back and waits as Near blinks, and whirs slightly, her systems gearing up. Eventually, her eyes open, that light and clear blue-green he spent ages trying to get exactly like the colour in his old photographs. He gives it a moment, and then another one, until he is sure she is awake, so to speak. Then, he speaks to her for the first time.

"Hello."

A pause, while she processes, and then:

"Hello, hello, I'm Near. Who are you?"

He cannot help but smile at the little repeated 'hello'. She's essentially a new-born, and already there's this little glimmer of distinct personality.

"Hello, Near. I'm Jun, your master." He replies, holding out his hand for her to shake.

"Hello, Master."

Near appears to size up Jun's hand for a moment, before hesitantly, she reaches out and grips it. She is surprisingly warm, but she doesn't appear to know what to do next, so he takes on most of the motion of the handshake, before letting go and testing her with more simple questions, making notes as he goes along, pleased at what he is seeing. This is just the beginning, of course, and there's no way of telling exactly what Near will become to him as time goes on.

But if her first few moments in his solitary, sun-soaked world are anything to go by, then things will only improve.

 **...**

 _5yrs_231days_

Carrying out what he calls her 'yearly check-up's (as if he is a doctor in the medical sense), it occurs to Jun that he should check she isn't overheating on the inside, that her wiring isn't melting and frying. Her hands are so warm, warmer than his, and it's starting to concern him. It's far too soon for something to go wrong.

"Hey, Near, how do you feel right now?" he asks as he starts the checks.

"I am healthy, Master."

"Are you sure?"

"All my systems are running at optimal level, I am not feeling any temperature irregularities or sluggishness of movement, or any other change that would suggest a problem."

"Hmmm, I see."

There is no response to this, because by now Near has learnt to distinguish between the comments specifically made to her, and the ones that are just Jun thinking aloud, even she isn't quite developed enough to understand the nuances behind some statements. They remain in silence for a while longer as he finishes the checks. Then, finding no problematic irregularities, he leans back and stares at Near in some astonishment as he tries and fails to come up with a reason that her hands could be warmer than his.

"Well, it would seem that you are right, Near. Nothing is wrong at all, you're perfectly fine…."

"That…" her eyes flicker as she tries to process the meaning behind his words. "This is supposed to be a good thing?"

"Yes, that's right." Jun nods.

"But Master, the tone of your voice and your current facial expression suggest you are concerned for my welfare." It's faint, but he hears the confusion in her sweet metallic voice.

"Yes, that's right as well. What do you think of that, Near?"

There is another moment as she processes this and formulates her answer.

"That you shouldn't worry about me." A slight frown puckers her face. "I'm perfectly fine, therefore logic dictates that there is no reason you should worry."

Jun chuckles at this, deep and full, and he holds one of Near's warm hands in his again. He is starting to think that the warmth in her hands is not so much a sign of something wrong, as it is a sign of something _right_. He isn't quite sure what that is though, he'll have to think on it a while. But looking her, he knows instinctively that this incomplete theory of his is correct.

"Well, Near, sometimes people worry about the people in their lives even if logic dictates that they have no reason to."

"I see." Comes the straightforward reply that makes him laugh again.

 **...**

 _11yrs_56days_

One morning, after breakfast and an injection, instead of going straight onto his computer to edit the paper he has to send to his Spanish colleagues next week, he finds himself looking out of the open space in his walls and watching the streams of people going over the bridge across the ocean in both directions, and the people on the beach roads far below the house. He gazes at them, and thinks to himself how they look a lot like little worker ants from this distance, mindlessly carrying the loads of their lives, and he laughs.

"What silly people." He scoffs, before turning to Near, sitting in the chair that's become her favourite, to ask her what she thinks of all these silly people. She is perfectly still, but watchful, waiting for a question, and for some reason, it gives him pause. What does she think of him as she sits and watches him scoff at the workings of the society that he's all but rejected on his own whims? Does she even understand what he is saying and thinking?

Logic, of course, would probably dictate that though she does indeed process and comprehend his words, Near doesn't actually think about these things, or care, because she is a robot, and anything that she might think or care about are the result of his programming. But he doesn't think that's true. Not just because of how advanced she has become and how much of her mind is already utterly her own, but because of her hands, the hands that are warmer than his, even though he's the human in this relationship.

So he decides to try.

"Hey Near, if I don't make fun of someone else, I can't forgive my own existence. What do you think of such a horrible person?" he asks as he comes over and sits in the chair opposite her, trying to keep the question as light as possible despite its heaviness.

Near blinks and sits up slightly, whirring as she processes the question. Jun waits patiently, leaning forward, ready to take her answer. He's used to waiting, sometimes the longer questions that need a little more deconstructing have longer response times, though over the past 11 years she gotten better at answering more naturally. But the seconds tick by, and the only other indication of reaction is the slightly confused, beseeching expression on her face. No response, no response at all. It disappoints him slightly, but he decides not to completely give up, and tries a different, but equally raw question.

"Hey, Near, watching other people's strides, stepping out without a purpose-how do you feel about such a boring person?" he asks, gesturing to the outside world and the scenes still unfolding there. Near follows his gesture, then turns her face back to him.

"Things without any form that cannot be predicted will always interfere with the calculation process." She comes up with after a pause that is long, but not as long as the one that had followed his first question. Jun nods at this, and tries another one.

"Hey, Near, I think that living each and every day with a smile is a natural thing. What do you think of this arrogant person?"

"Things without any form that cannot be predicted will always interfere with the calculation process." The answer comes quicker this time, but now Near is frowning, even as she gives him that beseeching look again. Though she makes no elaboration in her answer, it seems like she is baffled by these questions of his, of the abstract concepts that her wiring cannot compute.

A normal human would give up at this point, conclude that the difference between a robot and a human was too great for there to ever be any emotional understanding between the two. But Jun is not a normal human, and Near is not a typical robot, not with those hands that are so much warmer than his. And he decides that he owes her this explanation because of that, so she knows why he is persisting.

"Even so, I'm still going to believe and ask you who does not have a heart, because your hands are so much warmer than mine."

Near blinks at this, and looks down slightly at one of her hands, gripping the edges of her seat cautiously, before she gazes back at him. There is a slight whirring and delay, but thankfully, her answer comes.

"I understand, Master."

Jun nods at this, and then leans forward slightly as he thinks of another question to put to her, and another, and another.

 **...**

 _12yrs_249days_

After a while, something seems to change in Near. Things seem to align and settle in her mind (he refers to her as having a mind easily now, because wiring no longer seems accurate)and suddenly she becomes a lot freer in her movements and her mannerisms. She starts to develop advanced opinions about the foods that he gives her to taste (she adores fruits, especially raspberries slathered with cream, doesn't like chillies or coffee, and regards the very concept of bread with horror and incomprehension-whenever he butters a slice of the stuff for breakfast, she stares at him as if he's grown three heads). But it is really her conversational abilities that progress in leaps and bounds.

The balance between sweet and metal in her voice becomes more even, and then gradually the sweet takes over the metal, and she sounds like what he assumes a typical human of Near's proportions and age appearance would sound like. Though even if she doesn't, he doesn't give a damn anyway, because he likes the sound of her voice, which is always an added bonus when he talks to her.

And god, do they talk. About everything and anything, and sometimes even nothing. She exclaims and laughs and giggles and shrieks, each reaction more organic and natural than the last, matching her words. The ask-and-reply counter quickly racks up large numbers of questions and responses, even more than before he had asked her the single still-unanswered question, and they only ever stop when he is sleeping-even if he is eating, or washing himself, or perhaps doing some work on the other little bits of research he dabbles in, there are still back-and-forths of alarming but wonderful intensity in the appropriate pauses in such activities. Usually they sit opposite each other, in the spot of his house where most of the sun streams through, Near in her favourite chair and he in the other one, but sometimes he sits at his desk and she will curl up on his bed with one of the many books that he has accumulated over his many years, but wherever they are and whatever they are doing, there is always something to say

(Sometimes it still takes him aback, how much he has to say, even after a long day of conversation).

He teases her, sometimes, and tries to come up with difficult and confusing questions. In response, she protests, laughs his words off, shows offence, pulls a silly face. Sometimes she returns with a witty retort or a challenge of her own, and sometimes it leaves him breathless (but in a good way). Scientist that he is, he documents these changes, but only in the barest of words, and only in appropriate interval reports, done at the same time he gives her the yearly check-ups. All other exchanges, he lets the ask-and-reply counter pick up-the only other work he does is to engage, and to treasure each and every single one.

 **...**

 _15yrs_117days_

"Are you alright, Master?" Near asks as Jun stands up to put the tools away after her yearly check-up. He is tempted to brush her off, but the concern in her voice seems to darken the room, and he can hardly dismiss the fact that he's had to lean against the table just to stay steady. He takes a few deep breaths and waits for the clouds to clear before steadying himself.

"I'm fine, Near, don't worry. " He straightens and smiles, putting the tools back in their box, each in an appropriate slot.

"Are you sure?"

A deep breath, and then another. The truth is that as far as health goes, he has _never_ been alright. But he's always managed, living this life of his the way he has up until now. It's hard to say how long he will be able to keep it up for, how long it will be before he is no longer able to manage. He hopes that day will never come. But he knows it will.

To avoid saying all of this to Near, to avoid the look in her eyes if he did, he turns to stash the box under the table, then reaches up to one of his holographic screens to input some of the test results. But he knows he has to say _something_ , so:

"I'm sure, Near."

It is paltry, and eventually it will become a lie. But it is the best he can do for now. Such are the complications for caring about someone.

 _17yrs_301days_

They are by the hole in the wall, watching the sun set, standing side by side, as close as it is possible to be without actually touching.

"Hey, Near, the dream I had as a child…the continuation of that dream, it all connects to this future. What do you think?"

He looks down at Near, who beams up at him.

"I think that makes sense. You've been here ever since you were a child, after all."

"Yes, indeed." Jun says simply, thinking of his distant childhood and all of the things he has told Near about it, particularly about the sister he modelled her on. He looks down at her for a moment, observing how intently she looks across at the deep sparkling of the ocean. What, he wonders, would his life have been if he hadn't decided to make Near all those years ago?

Though he isn't really sure that it is possible to be 100% certain about such things, he knows deep down that whatever it would have been, it would be _nothing_ in comparison to the life he has now. Nothing at all.

"I will always be by your side, Near." He blurts out as he puts a hand on her head. Startled, Near blinks and looks up at him. He holds her gaze steadily, and says nothing. Because this isn't a statement that needs a reply. It's just a truth that he needs her to hear.

 **...**

 _22yrs_89days_

While he had taken into account whether he'd be able to carry Near's weight when building her, he hadn't thought of what to do in the reverse situation-if Near had to carry _him_. A flesh-and-blood human with her build would struggle to even drag a man of his weight and height. Yet somehow, Near had managed to get him to the bed after he'd gotten up from his chair only to crumple. And now they were here, in the very situation he had hoped would never come.

"You'll get better, won't you? This is just a bad spell, isn't it?" Near asks, voice thickening with tears. The tears surprise him, though he is not sure why. He also wishes he could stop them, but that is impossible. Not when he's unable to duck away from it all. Such are the complications of caring, but what can he do?

"No….at this point, my prognosis isn't good." The words hurt, each and every one of them scrape at his throat so hard, he's surprised he isn't bleeding already. "You'll have to prepare, Near, for when I-"

"No! No, no. You're not going to die, Master." Near insists, her little hands tightening around his clammy one.

"I am." He tries to be gentle, though all he wants to do is sleep, slip away. "I will be. You know about this disease, once it gets to this point, there's no hope."

"I can't….Master, I can't accept it. I'll continue to anticipate, even if it's all broken beyond recognition. As long you're on this planet, I don't want to forget it." Her sentence slides upwards in a wail towards the end, and with some effort, Jun opens his eyes slightly, and tries to capture her gaze.

"Thank you, Near. But will you at least hear me out? About what you should do afterwards….just in case?"

Near sniffs and gulps, taking a few breaths, still not letting go of his hand-how glad he is of that, because the warmth of her hands is a small comfort in the midst of all this pain. And as he watches her, he realises something -here, this moment, Near's very presence-all of it is an answer to the question he had asked all those years ago, the only one that had gone unanswered. It will never be an answer that the ask-and-reply counter can pick up. But it's good enough for him.

If only he could tell her that. Perhaps he will try to, before he dies. But first, the more pressing matters.

"Okay then, Master."

The response, when it comes, is in a more even voice, and so though he cannot smile at her, he sighs, and allows his eyes to flutter closed. And then he takes her through everything that she'll need to do, step by step, once he is dead. He does not dare to think of what will happen once it is all done, when he is in the bottom of the sea and she is alone.

 **...**

 _25yrs_53days_

He _hates_ this sickness, _hates_ how it's reducing him into a shell, day by day. He just wants it to be over and would have allowed it to defeat him by now, if it wasn't for Near. He doesn't want to make a mockery out of the promise he gave her eight years ago, for one thing. For another, he wants to keep talking and debating and laughing with her. There is so much he wants to tell her, with every second that passes by he thinks of something new (many somethings) to add to that list, but it's all too much, too much…..

But still, as he lies there and struggles, and as Near holds his hand and tries to hold back her tears, he keeps trying, keeps believing. After all, her hands have always been so mu-


	3. After

_After_

Cautiously, the intern climbs up the jagged rocks and the years-old rubble until he reaches the house. He looks down at his communicator, and the message he's got up on its screen to see if this is the right place. And indeed, it is, right down to the description of the large hole in the wall that has never been fixed. Looking around, he quickly surmises that this hole is basically the entrance to the house. How nobody has ever broken in to steal what's inside, the intern doesn't know, but that's not his problem.

His problem right now is how to discern why the scientist who lives here hasn't responded to any communications for over four years now.

Of course, the scientist isn't much of a communicator in the first place. Despite coming across as relatively polite and light in manner in the few interactions the intern has had with him, he is also a recluse of the most extreme kind, with no interest in really being a part of society, even as he contributes brilliance to said society. Though the Millennium War was long, long before the intern was even a thought in his parents mind, he is also aware that the scientist's work played a role in bringing the country back to normal in the aftermath. Hence why the Foundation lets him get away with his reclusiveness, or so it is said. And for the most part, nobody resents or really tries to change this. But for there to be four years without a single word, not even a message to say that he would be away for X amount of time, is unusual, even for the scientist.

Hence why he is here, to get to the bottom of it. _Aaaand, I'd better get on with it, hadn't I?_ Sighing, the intern powers down his communicator and tucks it into his blazer pocket, and calls out.

"Hello? Professor Morita? It's Natsushiro, from the Foundation."

For a moment, he feels silly mentioning his name-he's only ever signed off a few emails to the scientist in the two years he's been interning at the foundation, it's not as if he knows the man well (though, all things considered, he doesn't think anyone does). But he shakes off the feeling, and waits. But after a few moments it is clear there will be no answer, and he sighs. He looks around him for a moment, and notices a plant pot balanced on the edge of the ragged wall next to him. The plant within it is withered and wrinkled, and that make him frown.

"Professor Morita? Professor Jun Morita?" The intern cautiously steps through the boundary, and promptly sneezes violently, three times in quick succession. When he is finally able to open his eyes, he realises why.

The entire place is covered in dust.

The floor, the chairs, the small round table with the fruit bowl on it, the bookshelves, the desk-all of it is covered in dust. The fruits in the bowl are rotting, and even those are covered in a thin but obvious layer of dust. Yet even with the dust, the room still manages to look beautiful, glowing under the mid-morning sunlight. But the sheer amount of dust, it's inescapable. For a moment, the intern just stares, before he realises that this means that something is very, very wrong.

"Hello?" One step, then another and another. He looks behind him, and stares at the footprints his shoes have made, startled at how stark they are, before turning back around and surveying the surroundings. _Huh, if it wasn't so dusty and disrepaired, this would be an okay place to live._ To the intern,It's clear that nobody is here, and that they haven't been for a while, but that's all he's able to discern with a single glance. _Okay then, time to investigate._ This is his first solo field assignment, and he can't really leave without finding some sort of answer. But at the same time, the dust is worrying, and he doesn't want to just leave only to find out that something bad happened when he could have helped.

So with another sigh-and another bout of sneezing-the intern first heads over to the small door across from him, and yanks it open. All he sees is a small bathroom, well-kept and clean under the inevitable layer of dust. There are a couple of towels hanging on the rack, and when he opens the cupboards he only sees a couple of unused bars of soap, a few more folded towels, some sponges, and a bottle of shampoo, half used. There is a washing basket in the corner, filled with dirty clothes of an adult male-most of it seems to be night clothes, socks, underwear and face towels, but right at the bottom he sees a dark button-up shirt, a waistcoat and trousers. Despite himself, the intern goes to sniff the item at the top, and immediately afterwards wishes that he hadn't done so. _Ewwww._ Grimacing, he drops the sweaty black night-shirt back in the basket, and pads out of the bathroom.

Looking down at the bed, he can tell it's been slept in, the sheets clearly unmade, but also unusually rumpled, as if its inhabitant had been thrashing around in it. There is a wooden chair next to the bed, positioned as if someone was sitting to watch over whoever was in the bed. Which seems ridiculous to the intern-this is Jun Morita, after all, famous for his reclusiveness- _oh, wait, the robot_. _How could I have forgotten about the robot?_ The intern resists the urge to check his notes as he tries to remember the name that the scientist had gifted the robot, and he just stands there, staring at the bed and the chair for a while before it clicks.

"Near? Hello, Near?" he tries.

But of course, there is no response. Which does make sense-why would the scientist leave the robot behind, in any case? Though his yearly reports about her have also been absent for the past four years, he remember reading them and being taken aback at the compassion laced into the spare sentences and statistics. _It was almost like he loved it…._ Running a hand through his hair, the intern wonders what to do next, and then, at a loss, strides to the fridge and yanks it open, only to see that it is turned off and completely empty, save for a plastic container that contains a few rotting raspberries.

The intern shuts the fridge, then sweeps his gaze over the dusty golden room, at a loss. So far, there seem to be no answers. It would be pretty easy to just go and report the state of the house back to his seniors, to explain there is no sign or indicator of where the scientist and his robot have gone or why. But yet, for some reason, he cannot make himself walk back out through the wall, he cannot just leave this oddly beautiful place behind without trying to find some sort of answer, so he stays, and looks around, and eventually decides to try the desk. Or more specifically, the scientist's computers, where most of his work would be stored.

All of the scientist's monitors and hologram screens are turned off and unplugged, and the intern has to bend down to plug them all back in. In the process, he knocks over a small bin sitting under the desk, and when he goes to tidy it up, he is taken aback by what he sees.

Syringes.

Many, many syringes, every single one of them empty. Picking up one cautiously, he reads the small writing on the side, matches it to a crushed cardboard box from a drugs company that had also been resting in the bin. _He…he was sick?_ Giving in, the intern fishes his communicator out of his pocket again, reboots it and goes to his notes, scrolling through silently until he reads the section about The Sickness, how the scientist has been afflicted with it since early adulthood, and the rumours that this was the reason he'd become reclusive in the first place. That reasoning makes some sense to the intern, but he's never thought that it could be the full explanation. Though given that he doesn't know the scientist, that's not really an assumption he has any place to make anyway.

 _And you never will get to know him, will you?_

The intern blinks as he sets the bin upright again. _Never?_ Surely, it was too soon to conclude such a thing. But on the other hand, why would the scientist's house be like this if he was going to come back at some point? Sniffing and confused by his sudden sadness, the intern quickly puts the plugs back in and scrambles back up and dusts himself off as best as he can, before looking at the monitors. Most of them appear to be protected by a passcode or some other form of encryption, and so since there is no way to guess those, and nor does he have the clearance to override said encryption, not without calling in a senior. _And I don't want to do that, not yet…._ But there is one application that doesn't seem to require any kind of passcode, and almost as soon as the intern looks at it, the top of the screen flashes with a bright red error message, blinking and insistent.

"ERROR-CANNOT CONNECT TO SYSTEM-Near. Please try again."

The screen is a touch one, so the intern leans in and cautiously taps the 'Try Again' button. The error message disappears, and he notices a spinning circle appear in the middle of the screen, along with a message telling him that it is waiting for the information to sync. But a few seconds later, the error message returns, telling him once again that it cannot connect to Near's systems. Frowning, the intern clicks the 'Ignore button' so that he can see what statistics are being measured.

All it seems to be is simple information. Near's name, the date of her creation, her age, the number of questions that the scientist had asked her, and the number of replies he had made. The age counter reads 25 years and 55 days, the questions asked totalling to 1098718 and the answers 1098717. Seeing that, another fact blips into the intern's mind-it was when the robot was about 11 years old that one of the scientist's questions went unanswered. It seems like it never did get answered. _I wonder, what was that question? How important was it to you, Professor Morita? And why did Near not answer-oh, wait, that's not right?_ Putting his hands on the dusty desk, he leans forward to frown more closely at the screen, and realises something.

The date of Near's creation, the current age listed, and today's date-they do not match. With a sense of foreboding, the intern calculates the difference in his head and realises that the age that Near should be today is at least a whole year later than the one listed. _Okay, so no word from Professor Morita for four years, but the robot was still working for at least three of those years…and it's on record that he had a terminal illness..so….._

The intern lets out a slow breath and straightens up, and he realises something is half hidden under his hand. A photograph. He picks it up slowly, and looks at it.

Immediately, he recognises the figure of Jun Morita from the floppy dark-blond hair, strong features and broad shoulders. The intern cannot tell how old he's meant to be, but he does at least look outwardly healthy, beaming as he flashes a peace sign to the camera with one hand and points to it with the other. And his pointing at his own gesture would have been odd if it wasn't for the presence of the other figure, that of a young girl with small pale features, round blue-green eyes, and hair with a glassy sheen. This, the intern realises, is the robot. Near. She is staring straight at the camera with a somewhat vacant-or possibly cautious-expression as she mimics the peace sign that the professor is making. He flips the photo over to see if there is a date, but there is none, so he turns it back around again and just stares at the two figures. The professor who shut himself away from the world and still somehow managed to smile, and his robot.

"What happened to the two of you?" he asks.

The room responds only with silence, and so, still holding the photograph, the intern turns back around and looks out at the rest of the room, at the view of the sea that can be seen through the hole, and again he marvels at what the sunlight does to the room, even in the condition it is in. There are so many little, little details, starting with the age of the robot- _Near_ , he corrects himself-and as he starts to list them all in his head, he remembers another-there was no boat rigged up outside, unusual for someone who lived so close to sea. Putting these things together, the intern can make a good guess as to what might have happened. But of course, a guess is not an answer.

 _Ah, you poor sods._ He looks at the photograph for a moment, as if he is trying to burn the faces in his memory. It is only a single photograph, but it says so much. It confirms that for whatever reason, Near was incredibly precious to the scientist, that he enjoyed spending time with her. _1098718 questions, 1098717 answers. That's a lot. What did they talk about?_ The intern wonders if the conversations they had would have sounded anything like the conversations he's had with various loved ones over the years, both meaningful and meaningless, comfortable and challenging.

It's easy to imagine them sitting in that corner where the lone chair is, the other chair that's now by the bed opposite that chair, the two occupying those chairs and talking about whatever they talked about. _Ah, I wish I had walked in on them having a conversation and losing track of the time. That would have been better than this…whatever this is._ Suddenly, there is so much more he wants to know about the life of Professor Jun Morita, and it makes him want to cry.

"What _happened_?" he murmurs into the sunlight, once again receiving silence as a response. He supposes that this, too, is something he'll never really know. Another question without an answer. _There's no point in staying now, is there?_ Sighing in defeat, he walks back up to the desk, dusting himself down a little more as he does so, intending to leave the photograph back where he had found it, and just leave the entire place to his seniors. But, just as he is about to, something stops him. _Surely, it won't matter…._ Hesitant but resolved, the intern instead tucks the photograph safely in his pocket. _There's no way to get the answers now, is there? We can ask and ask, but there will be no response._

Still, as he leaves the sun-soaked room for good, he can't help but think that perhaps things are okay that way.

* * *

 **Yeah, I named the intern after the producer of the song. I find that kind of thing funny. Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this fic, and please do leave feedback. It would make me very happy :)**


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